Chapter 2
Hermione awoke with a start. She blinked rapidly, as her eyes adjusted to the blackness in the room. She'd been having this dream for months now, the memory of the funeral dogging her every thought not just during the daytime, but her nights, as well. For a while, she had been unsure of why her subconscious was forcing her to relive the worst day of her life, next to the day she found out her best friend had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Finally, though, she had an answer. It had taken her a fair amount of time to figure it out, but now she knew why she was replaying that day over and over in her head. Next to her, Ron snorted in his sleep and turned over clumsily. Careful not to wake him, she got out of bed, slid her feet into the house slippers on the floor, and tiptoed to the door. Shutting it quietly behind her, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen table where she Summoned a quill and paper.
I know.
~ H
She clucked her tongue quietly and their owl appeared, leg outstretched.
"Find him," she whispered to the bird.
She watched the owl fly away and wondered if perhaps she was going mad, after all.
A few days later, Hermione received a letter with a set of coordinates and instructions to Apparate there at a specific time on a specific date. She hadn't said anything to Ron about it, because she knew he wouldn't approve. Life had gone on after Harry had died during the final battle at Hogwarts. People had taken their NEWTs, gone on to land apprenticeships, and live their lives. She and Ron had gotten engaged and were due to be married by year's end. Ron had seemed in denial about Harry's death for quite some time, refusing to talk about him or even just say his name. It reminded Hermione of when Ron had walked out on them that night in the woods and how they never said his name if they could help it. It would have been funny if it weren't so tragic. She had tried to get him to open up and grieve over his best friend's death, but he kept evading it. She eventually let it drop, knowing he would heal in his own way, and in his own time.
She had her bag packed; she used the one they had stocked full during their time on the run last year, only this time it wasn't full of items she thought would be useful in hunting Horcruxes or fighting dark wizards, but things she might need for normal, daily ablutions for a few days. It was not even light out yet and the morning was chilly with the new fall air. She was outside the flat she and Ron had rented in London near the Leaky Cauldron while they both worked in apprenticeships at the Ministry. She had left Ron a note saying she would be gone for a few days and not to worry; she hadn't woken him to explain because, well, she knew he wouldn't approve. She clutched the small bag against her chest, took a deep breath in and shut her eyes tight, turning on the spot and disappearing with a soft pop into thin air.